She stood alone that night. Cold and lost, without so much as a voice to call out, to vocally express her suffering, she felt the shiver run down her spine, that feeling she only got when waking from a nightmare that held blood and death. She had never done what she did, but somehow, she was thrilled and excited, eager, like a child who had slept restlessly at night the morning before Christmas. There was steam on her breath, from the chill of the air. Emerald eyes drifted upwards towards the graying sky, how beautiful, blotched with those dreary colors, she almost wanted to reach up and smear her blood covered fingers over the soft, untouchable sky, showing the world what she had done. Wanting to write his name, with that twisted, grin pressing at her full lips.
What a naughty girl, someone might think but what an angelic creature. Silken, brown tresses were swept up in the wind, blowing away from a pale face that had gentle curves, a devil, masking behind such an angel's face. Slowly, those beautiful eyes slid towards the body laying behind her, twisted and distraught, his face contorted by numerous emotions that expressed no pleasure, only pain. She promised him a slow death, she was to her word. In one hand, consumed in the crimson liquid life, clutching her fist, the nails digging into the flesh, the other holding a kitchen knife, perfect for cutting meat; it too, bared the glossy dark red.
Another shiver slid down her spine and she arched willingly into it, her head being thrown back, the long brown hair, whipping about in the wind's current, picking up now, those gray clouds she ached to stain with the evidence of her sin rolling, crashing and crumbling into one another until they brought forth and poured down upon her, droplets of rain, washing her body. The idea spread into her mind, making her bit her lip, as emerald hues flickered in their insanity. What if god brought forth this rain, wishing to bathe this humanly angelic creature of the blood she had clearly took joy in retrieving from her victim? Was God pitying her, or begging her to do it again? Taking these thoughts and questions into mind, she stepped forward, leaving her first 'love', first kill, first friend, first enemy to rot and continued onwards, vanishing into the darkness.
She moves as graceful as the silhouette, gliding smoothly without sound. Her presence is only found when you are nearing the ends of your minutes alive. She may be beside you, in the crowd for which you walk. You may be her enemy. You might be her lover. But be weary, for every time it rains, she has claimed another soul and is covered in their blood, God, being so loving, is washing the sins away. Oh how beautiful, how death is within the rain.
What a naughty girl, someone might think but what an angelic creature. Silken, brown tresses were swept up in the wind, blowing away from a pale face that had gentle curves, a devil, masking behind such an angel's face. Slowly, those beautiful eyes slid towards the body laying behind her, twisted and distraught, his face contorted by numerous emotions that expressed no pleasure, only pain. She promised him a slow death, she was to her word. In one hand, consumed in the crimson liquid life, clutching her fist, the nails digging into the flesh, the other holding a kitchen knife, perfect for cutting meat; it too, bared the glossy dark red.
Another shiver slid down her spine and she arched willingly into it, her head being thrown back, the long brown hair, whipping about in the wind's current, picking up now, those gray clouds she ached to stain with the evidence of her sin rolling, crashing and crumbling into one another until they brought forth and poured down upon her, droplets of rain, washing her body. The idea spread into her mind, making her bit her lip, as emerald hues flickered in their insanity. What if god brought forth this rain, wishing to bathe this humanly angelic creature of the blood she had clearly took joy in retrieving from her victim? Was God pitying her, or begging her to do it again? Taking these thoughts and questions into mind, she stepped forward, leaving her first 'love', first kill, first friend, first enemy to rot and continued onwards, vanishing into the darkness.
She moves as graceful as the silhouette, gliding smoothly without sound. Her presence is only found when you are nearing the ends of your minutes alive. She may be beside you, in the crowd for which you walk. You may be her enemy. You might be her lover. But be weary, for every time it rains, she has claimed another soul and is covered in their blood, God, being so loving, is washing the sins away. Oh how beautiful, how death is within the rain.
